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Wind whipped through the Illyrian mountains. It tugged at her heart, pulling it from its tight braids beneath the wrap she wore. Her skirts became caught in the storm as well, tying around her ankles as she tried to walk through the camp. 

Devira didn’t know where she was going. It didn’t quite matter. The tug of the wind was strong, but the missing hole in her chest meant she didn’t feel anything except its absence. He’d given her nothing of their son, her son. She wasn’t even sure why the male insisted on keeping the boy he insisted was a worthless bastard. But she was an Illyrian female, and they weren’t married. No matter how either of them were treated, he owned them. And he had decided that Azriel was his. 

Her son's screams echoed in the wind. “It’s okay, little one.” She’d tried to keep her voice steady and hopeful while she prevented her own tears from falling, a smile on her face as she reassured him while his father carried him away. The little wings on his back flapped so fiercely they hit his father in the face, and Devira had winced when the man shoved and pressed them against his back roughly, not caring how the tendons strained and Azriel screamed. “I’ll be back! I love you!” 

She screamed it at the walls of the keep long after the male had shut her outside the gate. Eventually she’d found the strength to walk away, but the screams still echoed in her wake. Azriel was only two. He didn’t deserve this treatment. A child needed their mother, and a mother needed her son. 

Devira felt hollow as she walked through the center of the circled tents that made up the small camp beside Azriel’s father’s keep. She kept her wings tight and her head down, trying to be unnoticed until she could stomach returning to the tent she’d shared with Azriel on the outskirts. If she went back now, seeing his blankets and the tiny toys of sticks and straw she’d made for him, she wasn’t sure she’d survive. So she continued to make herself small and walk outside. Maybe the wind would die down and the screams would stop. 

“Devira!” 

It took a moment for her to recognize her name, and another for her to recognize the bright, warm female voice that had the strength and protection to speak so loudly in the middle of camp. 

Taking a deep breath, Devira tried to force a smile and looked up to meet Adira’s gaze. “My Lady, how are you?” She inclined her head in the deference owed the High Lord’s wife after the acknowledgement. 

“Psh,” Adira waved her off, her wings high and face bright with excitement. “I’ve told you before, you’re my friend Devira. None of these formalities.” In reality, Devira had only met the High Lord’s wife a few times, but it didn’t seem to matter. Adira only had so many friends, the males and females being terrified of what her husband would do if anyone wronged her. But Devira had already lost everything. Why should she be scared? 

Besides, the female was so kind and open, both attributes her mate lacked. The only thing they seemed to share was their ferocity for life. 

“How are you and your boy?” Adira’s question had Devira’s heart breaking further. Her silence must have been answer enough, because Adira reached out and grabbed Devira’s hands. She’d been wringing them to the point of pain but hadn’t noticed. 

When Devira looked up, Adira’s face was open, questioning but not prying. In return Devira gave her a soft, sad smile. She couldn’t answer further, but Adira squeezed her hands. They were Illyrian females, and both understood how bad it could get. 

Changing the subject, Devira asked “What brings you this far from the city?” 

Adira smiled, looping her arm through Devira’s and turning them both to walk through the camp together. “I came to see you. But if anyone else asks, there's a fabric I’m searching for, and you’re going to help me pick it out.” 

“And what do you need this fabric for?” 

Shrugging as she picked some lint off the piece in her hands, Adira said “I’m sure I’ll find a use for it.”

Quietly, they strode through the square to a small tent at the farest edge. Once they were inside, hands running along the  heavily beaded and embroidered fabric, the texture reminding Devira once again of the things her son would miss, she asked another question. Though no males entered this tent, Devira still kept her voice low. “What can I do for you, Adira?” 

The High Lord’s wife stopped, her hand fisting the garment it rested on. She looked around the tent once, then twice, before her wide eyes met Devira’s. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

A wave of emotions rolled through Devira. Excitement, joy, sorrow, fear. She did not envy this woman who would have to carry and raise a High Lord’s son, especially one whose heritage would be mixed. “How do you feel? What did he say?” 

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Adira spoke quietly. “I haven’t told him. I think I’m a few months along already, but he’s gone so frequently he hasn’t scented it yet.” She paused, letting the words settle heavily between them. Her eyes shone when she looked up at Devira, seeming so young. “I’m too scared to say anything.” 

It was Devira’s turn to reach out and take Adira’s hand. “Why are you scared?” 

“What if I’m a bad mother, what if he takes him from me?” She sucked in a shaky breath. “What if I can’t do this?” 

Devira knew these questions all too well. She’d had them herself, and seen how frequently the fears could come true. But fear didn’t help you survive. So she pulled herself together, for her son, now stolen away, and her friend before her. 

“Take a deep breath,” Devira kept her voice calm and steadying. “You are one of the strongest women I know.” Everyone knew the story of the men who had almost clipped her, and the mate who had claimed her whether she liked it or not. He let her fly, but Devira suspected there were so many things people didn’t know about how the High Lord treated her.

A silent tear rolled down Adira’s face, but she smiled. “Thank you.” 

“Why come to me?” Devira kept her question soft, hand still strong around Adira’s to show her she was there. 

“Because you're the only female I trust who isn’t in my husband's pocket. And you’re Illyrian. I’m surrounded by high fae constantly.” Devira’s voice softened, which seemed impossible since she’d been so quiet since voicing her concern. “I wanted someone who would understand.” 

And Devira did. While their bodies were designed to carry and birth babes with wings, that didn’t make the process any less difficult. Most females had no issues, or very few that were associated with typical pregnancies. But occasionally, the process was incredibly traumatic. There would always be an extra risk when birthing an Illyrian child, no matter how Illyrian the female was. Though Illyrian females could not participate in the Blood Rite, it was said amongst the matrons that birthing a babe was their blood rite, and a more difficult one at that. 

“Thank you for trusting me.” Devira said, squeezing Adira’s hand before releasing it and turning back to the wrack of clothes. They couldn’t look suspicious, even if there were no males around. “The fact that you’re questioning it tells me you will be an amazing mother. And though the birth may be hard, there’s no question in my mind that your mate will make sure you survive, no matter what he has to do.” 

Her hands once again running along the beaded fabric she’d first stopped on, Adira confided “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. He’ll choose me over a child, heir or no.” Her voice hardened, more sure than Devira had ever heard her. “And I won’t let him do that. I won’t let him take my son.” 

Devira’s pulse thundered. She knew just how easily males could take from females, and her arms longed to touch what she’d lost just that morning. And though she knew how painful Adira’s fears coming true was, she knew the proper response — the safe response.  “You can’t say such things.” 

Adira lifted her chin high, releasing the fabric and turning to Devira. “And why not? Because he’s High Lord? Because he’s my mate? I’m tired Devira, and I won’t—”

A sharp, short  cry cut off her words, coming from behind the back wall of the tent. “What was that?” Adira asked, turning toward the sound with Adira. Wordlessly, they made their way outside the tent, leaving the beads and fanciful threads. 

Behind the tent, they found a woman dressed in a simple frock, the hems frayed and covered in mud. The fabric hung loose everywhere on her body except her swollen stomach, which she clung to with one arm, the other reaching out to grasp a tent pole for support. Hearing them coming, she looked up, only to quickly bow again when she noticed Adira. 

“What’s wrong?” Adira asked, walking to her side. 

“The babe,” the woman panted out before gritting her teeth again as she bent over once more. 

“What’s your name?” Devira asked, approaching the female slowly. She’d seen her around the camp, always on the outskirts, working whatever odd jobs she could to support herself. Everyone in the camp knew her shame, knew the male who had taken her to bed and left her with nothing but a swelling belly and another mouth to feed. 

“Gidona.” 

“Gidona, I’m Devira.” She moved to kneel before the female, bringing them almost eye level. Devira noticed how Adira hung back, likely from fear and not wanting to scare the female with her presence. “How far along are you?” 

“Not far enough,” the last word ended in a grunt, and Gidona bent over further. Devira shot a look over her shoulder, meeting Adira’s wide eyes where she stood frozen. 

“Okay,” Devira said, her voice more calm than her racing thoughts. She reached out for Gidona’s hand, and the female gripped it tightly. This wasn’t the first birth that Devira had assisted, and it wouldn't be the last. Illyrian females had to stick together, especially those who had experienced what it was like. “We need to get you laying down.” 

“No,” Gidona’s eyes were full of fear when she pulled her hand from Devira’s, trying to step back as another wave of pain had her hunching over. “They can’t find me. Don't let them take him.” 

She tried to get away, but her movements were slowed by her slim form and swollen stomach, the pain making her movements staggered. Devira stood, considering  her next move carefully. Was she ready to confront the things that had happened that morning? To tell not only Gidona, but Adira how much she understood her fears? 

No. She wasn’t. But there was another option. “I know a place we can go. The males won’t follow us.” 

Gidona stared her down, eyes full of protective fire. “How do I know I can trust you?” She curled her arm around her stomach further, as if she could keep the babe safe inside her a little longer.

Taking a deep breath, Devira decided that her pain meant nothing. If she could help someone else, it didn’t matter how much it hurt her to admit the truth. “Because they took my boy. And no mother should have to experience that.” She heard Adira’s sharp intake of breath behind her, but didn’t turn her attention fully on Gidona. 

Voice breaking, she spoke again. “No one should have to experience that.” Eyes locked with Gidona’s, Devira tried to push the truth of her words into her gaze. 

Without speaking, Gidona reached out for Devira’s hand again. Both Adira and Devira went to either side of her, supporting her weight as they began to walk, Devira leading the way. 

Their path was slow, with frequent stops as each contraction hit. But Devira pushed them to walk as fast as they could, knowing that the babe could come at any time. 

She let out a sigh of relief when she pushed the small tent’s flap open and found no one inside. It was bare, just a small area for a fire, a dented set of pans, and a pile of rough blankets to sleep atop. 

“What is this place?” Adira asked. Devira’s eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment before she remembered that the High Lord’s wife had delayed her cycle as long as possible and been claimed by her mate and taken away during her first. 

“These are the huts. It’s where Illyrian females go to bleed. We aren’t welcome back until it’s done.” 

The horror on Adira’s face was clear. Mothers didn’t share this part of Illyrian culture until they had to. It wasn’t an attempt to protect their daughters from the realities of Illyria, there was no escaping that, but to keep them from running to the tents and getting injured. Though most male’s refused to venture near them, there were a select few who sought them out. More than one female had been attacked during her cycle as she waited it out in the barren hut. 

Gidona collapsed inside the tent, falling to her hands and knees atop the sparse blankets. Before she went to her, Devira paused beside Adira. The female’s face was too pale. “I know this is a lot for you, given what you’ve just shared with me, but I need your help. Can you do that?” 

She nodded, determination and a little color coming back to her face. “What do you need? And are you okay?” Adira gently touched Devira’s arm on the second question, an unsure, but supportive move. 

Devira chose to only answer the first question, hoping Adira heard what was left unsaid. There was no way to be okay after the morning she’d had. “We need to start a fire and boil some water. There’s a stream nearby. Be quick.” 

Without question, Adira grabbed the pot and tracked down the sound of running water. Gidona groaned from where she knelt on the floor, rocking on all fours as she tried to let her body accommodate, riding out the waves of her contractions.

Devira dropped to her knees beside her, rubbing Gidona’s back in comforting circles as she began to speak.. “I know we’ve just met, and I know you don’t know me. But I’m going to get you both through this okay?” 

“Please,” the word came out on a harsh breath. A deep inhale later, Gidona looked up to meet Devira’s gaze beside her. “He’s a fighter.” She smiled, pride in her son evidently already filling her heart. Devira knew that feeling. “It’s only been eight months, give or take, but I know he’ll get through this. If you have to choose, you pick him.” 

“No.” Though Devira would make the same decision, she wouldn’t allow that thought to enter Gidona’s mind this early on. Eight months was not long enough to guarantee anything for the babe, considering Illyrian’s usually carried their babes for ten or eleven. “I’ll get you both through this, Cauldron be damned.” 

Sweat had begun to bead at Gidona’s forehead, and Devira removed her shawl, using it to dab it away before pushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Gidona leaned into her hand, eyes closing. “Thank you. I didn’t—” Another sharp intake of breath as a contraction hit, and Gidona pushed her hips back, trying to relieve the pressure. 

Devira pressed her hands into Gidona’s lower back, working at the muscles there. When the wave passed, Gidona looked back up at her. “I didn’t want to do this alone, even if that’s safer for us both.” 

“You’re not alone, Gidona.” 

The female’s eyes shone with fresh tears, filled with pain and relief. “Thank you. I— I don’t even know your name.” 

“I’m Devira,” she said her name with a gentle smile, wiping away more sweat. Another contraction hit and Gidona groaned louder this time. 

“They’re coming faster together,” Devira noted aloud. “Can I check how far you are?” 

Gidona nodded, shuffling her knees further apart. It didn’t take Devira long to check what she needed to see. “Things are moving as they should,” she said reassuringly to Gidona, who continued to shift her hips, trying and failing to get comfortable. “You’ve still got a way to go, so rest if you can.”

“Can you help me?” Gidona’s voice was soft and questioning, as if she’d never asked for help before. If Devira were a betting female, she’d guess Gidona hadn’t.

“Of course I can.” 

Together they got Gidona onto her side, a wad of blankets between her knees to help relieve the pressure. Devira kneeled behind her, fingers working the tight muscles of her shoulders and lower back. When Gidona closed her eyes, Devira wondered if this was the first time she’d ever been cared for. 

Adira walked through the tent then, a stack of logs in one arm and a full pot of water in the other. “How are we doing here?” Her voice was cheery, as if there were no concerns in the world. Devira could see it for the farce it was, but she was grateful. For both her sake and Gidona’s.  

Grunting, Gidona tried to move back, but Devira knelt behind her. Devira could scent her fear when she asked Adira, “Why are you here?” 

Adira, now knelt beside the small fire pit, turned toward her. “Females stick together. That’s something my mate will never take from me.” She turned again, back toward the logs she’d begun to stack. “He doesn’t know I’m in Illyria. As soon as I feel he’s close, I’ll leave. I won’t do anything to jeopardize either of you.” 

Though her fearful scent had dulled slightly, Gidona turned to look up at Devira with wide, questioning eyes. Devira simply smiled down at her, nodding slightly. You can trust her, she tried to say. I do.

Devira didn’t know why she trusted the High Lord’s wife. The female had been ostracized from Illyrian society the moment her husband saved her from being clipped. Devira’s own wings ached along the old scars when she thought of it. None of the males had wanted to offend the High Lord, and the envy of the females who watched her freely fly away kept them away as well.

But maybe that was exactly why Devira did trust her — she’d been outcast too once her son was born and the male rejected her. And there was no doubt Gidona had been as well, the way her clothes were torn, her frame thin around her round belly. The hand she used to squeeze Devira’s was rough and calloused, painted in the scars of hard work and an even harder life. 

Whatever similarities or differences these females had, the Mother had placed them together on this day. Before she could wonder why, the spark of rock against flint and a sharp squeeze of her hand accompanied by a quiet groan pulled Devira’s attention away from her churning thoughts. 

“Gidona I want your thoughts on a dress.” Adira spoke jovially, as if this was high tea in a fanciful garden. She placed the pot atop a small spit she’d formed, allowing the water to heat. 

“Why,” Gidona grunted out at the end of a contraction, “would you want my opinion?” 

“Well why wouldn’t I?” Adira turned, one hand on her hip as she used the other to pick pieces of dirt and dust off her skirts. “I asked for it, so I want it. Simple as that. Now…” 

Adira described the dress in great detail. Devira could practically see it — the light blue, long sleeved masterpiece peppered in the perfect dusting of graded crystals. She knew what the other female was trying to do. The distraction was a boon, and one Devira would have loved when she’d labored on her own with Azriel. 

When Gidona had questions, Adira would draw figures in the muddy ground. And when Gidona’s contractions grew worse still and even closer together, Devira chimed in, asking her own questions. As they talked, Gidona continued to move. From her side, back to her knees. Occasionally she’d stand and take a few steps, anchored by the other females on either side. 

The hours passed, the sun growing low in the sky. When they’d arrived at the tent it’d still been high in the clouds, and who knew how long Gidona had labored before Devira and Adira found her. 

The female screamed, squatting slightly as the females on either side of her held her up between them. But even that couldn’t keep her up, and she fell panting to the ground, mud squelching around her knees and hands. 

She began to sob, and Devira crouched before her, hands grasping Gidona’s face gently and brushing hair and tears from her cheeks. Adira stood behind her, worry on her face as she rubbed circles on Gidona’s back, pressing her fingers into the base of her spine as Devira had shown her. 

“I can’t do this,” Gidona cried. “I caa-” the words became a blood curdling scream, Gidona’s entire body shaking from the strain of her labor. 

Devira’s heart broke for the female before her, knowing the emotions that come along with such a long, hard labor first hand. “Gidona,” she said, keeping her voice calm but firm. “Look at me.” 

“No, no, no, nooo” the last word was a moan.

“Look at me.” This time Devira’s words were more forceful as she firmly gripped Gidona’s face, gently tilting their eyes to meet. “You can do this.” 

“No, it’s too–” 

“I know,” Devira said, trying to hide the cracks in her voice that began to form as her own labor played through her mind. “I know how much it hurts. But I also know the joy of holding your son in your arms, of hearing him cry as the Mother welcomes him into this world.” 

She had Gidona’s attention now, and Adira’s, the latter’s hand gently pressed to her own still flat stomach. Both females stared at Devira, and she felt the tears she couldn't stop begin to slip down her own cheeks. But she kept talking. “When you see him open his wings for the first time, stretching them and feeling that freedom. And then when he opens his eyes,” Devria swallowed down a sob, “and they find yours? There’s no better feeling in the world.” 

Gidona groaned as another contraction hit her, but this time she didn’t pull away. Determination came over her face and she let the wave wash over her, riding it instead of fighting it. “That’s it,” Devira said, “You’re doing great Gidona. I’m going to check you again now, okay?” 

The female nodded, once again shifting her knees. Instead of moving before Gidona as she’d done every other time she and Devira had done this move, Adira stopped beside Devira. She pulled the female into a quick hug, whispering in her ear “We’ll get him back.” 

Adira pulled back, and their watery gazes met for a small moment before they moved back to Gidona. It didn’t take long for Devira to see what she needed. “He’s almost here, Gidona,” she smiled with anticipation and relief for the female. “It’s time to start pushing.” 

As the sun set over the Illyrian mountains, the last kernels of light shone through the gently waving flaps of the isolation tent, Gidona’s son was born into the world. It was as if the Mother had kept it in the air just long enough to greet the babe’s first raucous cry. 

“He’s beautiful,” Devira said through her own tears. Adira helped Gidona from her knees to her back, moving slowly and propping her against one of the tent poles. Before she was even settled, Gidona reached her arms desperately out to Devira, who handed her her son. 

“He’s so small,” Gidona said, her eyes shining and full of love. 

The boy was tiny, his wings seeming so frail on his small form. Devira wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a babe that small survive a birth before. But he filled his lungs and cried his defiance to the world, as if nothing so small as an early birth could break his mortal coil. 

The babe’s wings twitched, his tiny fists pounding the air until he found his mothers hand and wrapped his fingers around her own. Adira chuckled, kneeling beside Gidona. “You’ve got a little Enalius on your hands.” Adira reached out and tenderly touched the boy’s cheek. “He’s a fighter.” 

“Just like his mother,” Devira said, the words slightly wet from her own tears. 

For several moments, the females sat together. Devira helped Gidona through the last of her birth, while Adira held the tiny baby. She gazed down at the boy, who’d wrapped his wings around himself like a little blanket, with complete awe. Devira could tell the wheels in her mind were churning, thinking of her own babe still growing within her. He would arrive before she knew it. 

When the moon was high in the sky, starlight skittering between the still fluttering tent entrance, Adira grunted, her hand going to her chest. She’d long since handed the babe back to an exhausted and contented Gidona.

“Are you okay?” Gidona asked, looking up at her as she instinctively pulled her son closer to her chest. 

“It’s my mate.” Adira looked up to meet Devira’s eyes, fear shining in her gaze. “He’s returned.” 

Devira nodded knowingly. “Will you be okay for a moment while I walk her out?” She asked Gidona, who’s brows had furrowed with fear of her own. “I’ll come right back.” The unspoken alone seemed to lessen her fear. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “We’ll both be fine.” 

Devira stood then, going to Adira and wrapping a supporting arm behind her back. The two entered the night together, the cool breeze a welcome kiss against their warm skin. 

“He’s going to know.” Adira’s voice was fearful, her hands shaking and eyes wide. 

“Yes,” Devira said matter of factly, there was no point in denying the truth of what was about to happen. Illyrian magic wouldn’t be enough to mask the scent of Adira’s growing child from a High Lord, especially her mate. “Do you not think he will be excited?” 

“No, he will be full of joy,” Adira said, and through her worry a slight smile shone. “As am I. I’d give him anything after what he saved me from, and children is something we both want.” Her voice was quieter, a softness creeping into the words as Adira added, “Loving our children may be the only thing we ever agree on.” 

Devira smiled. “And now you know what to expect. The babe may or may not have wings, given your mate, but the experience will be similar. And you will not be alone.” 

“Will you be there?” Adira’s eyes shone with yearning. The female wore her experience plainly for all to see, and Devira saw her own mirrored there. She saw the pain of rejection, the fear of being alone, the deep seated mistrust of males. It made her wings twitch uncomfortably. Devira prayed to the Mother that they would never have to share the feeling of losing a son. 

Her chest hurt as she looked back toward Adira, who had grown desperate questioning stronger while she waited for Devira to respond. “If I can be there for you, I will. But I can’t make any promises, Adira. I have a feeling my limited freedom won’t last much longer.” 

Adira seemed to understand “Then I will thank you now,” Adira stepped forward, the starlight shining in a halo around her dark hair, highlighting her proud, strong wings, and took both of Devira’s hands. “For not running from me as the others do. For letting me be your friend, if only for a few days.” 

“I believe everything happens for a reason, and I am grateful that the Mother brought you into my life. Thank you for teaching me what it’s like to be a mother.” Adira hugged her then, a strong hold that seemed to reach through the decades even as it ended. “Take care of yourself, and I’m sure fate will take care of your son.” 

The female turned then, running a few steps before jumping into the sky, her wings beating fiercely to carry her back to her mate. Devira hugged herself, trying to let Adira’s hold sink into her skin to carry with her. 

Watching Adira fly away, Devira prayed to the Mother that she would be safe. As she did, she tried to remember the feel of wind through her own wings. They’d grown so stiff over the years that Devira couldn't spread them enough to air them properly. They felt like dead weight on her back. For years she’d wondered if it would be easier, better, if she freed herself of them completely, or if she ceased to exist. But then she’d heard Azriel’s first cries. 

They’d been soft, as he always was. A gentle hello to the world that seemed more like a song than a cry. Devira held him tight to her chest, rocking back and forth as she joined in, singing along to his soft melody. That day she’d decided to live, bearing the scars on her wings that proved she could survive, and so would he. 

The babe in the tent behind her began to wail, his lungs seemingly three sizes bigger than his frail little body. Devira turned from watching Adira fly away to join Gidona in the tent. 

“How is he?” Devira asked upon entering, the heat from the fire warming the night’s chill that had begun to settle in her bones. 

Gidona sat upright, shushing her baby with concern etched across the weary lines of her face. “He started crying again and won’t stop.”

The baby cried again, a shrill sound, his fists coming free of the cocoon he’d made with his wings to pound his discomfort into the air. Devira smiled to herself, going to kneel beside Gidona.

”Your little Enalius is hungry. Let me help you with your shift.” The babe continued to cry and punch the air as Devira helped Gidona loosen threads of her worn dress so she could free her breast. 

It didn’t take long for the babe to find what he wanted most — food. He latched instantly, and Gidona gasped in surprise. She looked down at her son, eyes wide with shock. Devira laughed. 

“He’s so tiny,” Gidona said before wincing slightly. “How is he so strong ?” That made Devira laugh harder. “Is it supposed to hurt?” 

“It might, a little. But it shouldn’t be too painful, and it won’t last forever.” As she spoke, Devira watched the little boy. One hand at his mother’s breast, the other wrapped around her finger, his brows knit furiously as he suckled. 

“Do you have a name for him?” Devira asked softly, running the back of her finger along the sparse hairs covering the boy’s head. 

“I’ve been too scared to hope we’d survive to this point.” 

“You’ve done more than survive, Gidona.” Devira’s eyes met Gidona’s, both brimming with unshed tears. 

Together they looked down at the babe, so small yet full of life. “I feel so hollow,” Gidona said, her voice raw. “I carried him for so long. How can I protect him now that he’s out in the world?” 

Devira swallowed around her own grief, thoughts of Azriel flooding her mind, the vicious way his father pinned the boy’s wings playing over and over. “All you can do is your best, Gidona. You’ve already done so much for your boy.”

“For Cassian.” The babe trilled around Gidona’s nipple, as if he recognized the name already, before going back to devouring his meal.  

“For Cassian.” Devira repeated, adding a silent ‘ and Azriel’ in her mind. 

“He’s going to do great things.” Gidona said, her eyes heavy with exhaustion as her body began to give out from the stress of the day. 

“You both will,” Devira said. “Rest now. I’ll watch over you.” 

“Thank you,” Gidona replied, looking up at her. “For everything. I wouldn’t have gotten through this if it weren’t for you. You’re Mother sent, and I’ll never be able to repay you.” 

With a smile, Devira said, “There’s nothing to repay. This is what females do for each other. Rest, Gidona.” 

She slept through the night, only rousing occasionally when Devira shifted Cassian across her chest, keeping the boy fed and comfortable. His little wings twitched, already itching to taste the sky above. 

In the morning, Devira hugged Gidona and little Cassian tightly. “Be well,” she said. “Part of you lives in him now, there will always be an emptiness, but watching him grow will fill it tenfold.” 

Devira’s heart panged as she realized she might not get to see her own son grow, that Azriel may mature to a male at a distance. But he would always be hers, and she would cherish any limited time they got. 

“You’re leaving?” Gidona asked. 

“My heart grows outside me as well. And he needs me.” Devira’s words were sure, though she was not. The plan she’d devised watching Cassian through the night may be fruitless, even foolish, but she had to try. 

“Mother protect you and your boy.” 

“Thank you, friend.” Though they’d known each other less than a day, the word felt as true for Gidona as it did for Adira. Some thread of fate had tied the females together that day, and Devira had a feeling this was just the beginning. She left the tent then, steeling her sore back and stiff wings for what she would do. 

Marching across camp, the Illyrian winds more vicious than the day before as they whipped around her in the stormy skies, Devira made straight for the keep. Azriel’s father would not keep Devira from her son. 

She beat against the stone, screaming his name and trying to get through the gate he’d closed. Before long soldiers surrounded her, and still she shouted. “Azriel! I’m coming for you, love, hold on!” They began to pull her away, grabbing whatever they could, including her wings, to pull her back from the keep. 

But she fought. Her dress ripped, something in her arm snapped, and her wings tore. She would get to her son, and if she could not, he would know she tried. 

Devira didn’t see the blow coming before it hit her in the back of the head, knocking her unconscious. 

When she awoke, broken and bloodied, Devira was in a prison of her own. Azriel’s father had shipped her camps away, and left instructions she was not to be allowed to leave, not until he called for her. And if she stayed, if she obeyed, she would get to see her son for one hour, once a week. 

So Devira did as she was told, she stayed in the prison designed to torment her, thinking of that tent she’d shared with Azriel, counting down every second until she could see him again. It was a hollow existence, and the shadows seemed to play tricks on her mind, weaving against the walls in strange patterns. 

But when she saw Azriel, his wings flaring unharmed one week later, she realized it would be enough. He was alive, and Devira would do anything for him. 

There were many different types of love in this world, and she had learned the hard way that most of them came with suffering. To love is to have something to lose, to hollow out parts of your soul. Parts of Devira now lived in those two females she’d met, and the sisterhood they’d had, if only for one fateful day.